Title: In Hell with Love

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or its characters. I'm just a fan

Author's note: Thanks for your reviews. I appreciate them greatly.

Chapter 12

If you care… just let me die…

Death.

What seems like a nightmare to the normal is a dream to the damaged and the suffering.

Nick knew what it was like. To pray for death. The desire for peace. The end of all sufferings. It was his own hand that pushed the barrel of the gun to his chin.

It was hope that released the trigger, saving his life.

But by now, hope did not exist in the tragic vessel of a person known as Sara Sidle.

She wanted out.

She wanted out of this life. This suffering that she fought with for so long. She had lost all control of her being. She had lost control of life that she had to ask someone else to fulfil her suicide. Her life had lost its purpose.

She wasn't afraid to die, she was afraid to live.

Someone once said if your hand offends you, cut it off. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go to hell. But this place was her hell. Her offensive body was in it. Her tormentor was the devil. Torture was his tools. Strangers that came to her rescue were potential grim reapers with faces she could not see or recognise. She could only hope they would be kind enough to take her life.

To set her free.

At least she didn't mistake Nick for her tormentor. She would never give whoever's responsible the satisfaction of seeing her suffer, although it was apparent that she was. Inside her mind, blinding images flashed and faded repeatedly, images of terror to whom she was the only witness, recapping the feeling of horror only she, alone experienced.

The three kidnapped victims were alive because of her. Too bad rookies send them home without investigating further.

"No harm was done to them." They would say, burying the hope deeper and deeper into the unforgiving dirt. There was nothing they could do. But in reality, there was plenty, they just didn't know it.

And now here she is. Standing before him. Hurt. Suffering. Dying. If he lets her live, does that mean he cared less? If he cared for her more, does that mean he should let her die?

The Psychology of Torture.

That's what the rejected killer calls it.

Beaming with pride and worry, he mercilessly swallowed his last bite of pizza, his eyes glued to the screen as rescue begins.

Nick's mind was racing at the speed of light, but his body working in slug motion. Trust was what she needed. Hope was what he was planning to give. The delivery was the problem that needed to be figured out.

Sara, on the other hand, was staring glassy-eyed at the wall. She hadn't said anything else after asking Nick to commit euthanasia. Her breathing was slow and laboured. Her chest heaved heavily as her body fought to keep her alive. Her throat was dry, painfully dry that it felt like it was stuck shut. She tried to clear her windpipe but nothing will come loose. She coughed and coughed, tasting the metallic ooze of her own blood at the back of her throat.

In her fatigue state, she could hear a voice. She understood the words but couldn't quite put them together. She turned to her side once again, focusing on the ink blob of a person behind her, watching him make strange hand gestures as his faded voice rant on.

She found that odd. No one had taken the time or effort to tell her anything since she'd been here.

She felt that, it had to be a dream.

Nick was determined. He had lost her once, and he's not going to lose her again. He walked towards her, watching her head turn painfully towards him. Blood oozing from the wound that lined her brow, dripping from her chin to the floor. How long had she been bleeding like this?

That wasn't her only injury. The closer he was, the more her injuries became apparent. The back of her black sleeveless top glisten a maroon glow, reflecting the light that came through the door. Lesions, straight and long, were visible on her shoulder blades, but Nick knew that there was more hidden. Her feet were blistered due to prolong standing and environmental exposure. The back of her knees were scraped and bruised. Her arms were a bloody mess of deep cuts, sores and burns. The knuckles on her hands were worn out, most likely sustained from self-defence.

That's my Sara, Nick though, taking crap from no one, fighting till the end.

Nick took his flashlight to shed some light onto her left arm.

There was a word carved deeply into her arm, so deep that some of their letterings were still bleeding. A single word:

Approved

"Oh Sara… What did he do to you?" An aura of empathy flowed out of Nick's voice.

She felt it. A question. Even though she did know what it was about, she hadn't heard anyone ask her a question in a long time.

Sara wasn't even sure if he was talking to her.

"I'll get him. I'll make him pay for what he did to you. Okay Sara? I'll get him" He growled protectively, a growl that ushered from the very depths of his hatred for that man who did this.

Better yet, this ink blob wanted to do something for her, not something to her.

Emotion swelled in her heart and gut, she was afraid her body would burst. The closer he came to her, the more sense he made to her eyes. She was human, and being treated like one. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she mattered.

She mattered to someone.

Nick noticed a tired calm taking over her body, like she was getting used to being scared. He let out a relieved sigh, a little glad that she wasn't as terrified as when she first saw him. He reached out for her restraints. Her chains were shackled to rings bolted to the wall, there was no way he could get her out without using any power tools. They'll have to wait for the vault doors to open.

He turned back to face Sara.

She was shivering, the freezing air in the room slicing through her. Her hands were numb as far as Nick could tell, her fingers kept curling from the cold as she fought maintain feeling in her hands. He immediately took off his cap and placed it carefully onto her head, trying not to hurt her further.

It was impossible though.

Her skin was so sensitive that it felt as if pins and needles were being pushed deeper and deeper into her scalp. A mental lobotomy, psychosurgery; the warmth of the cap filled her brain, like hot wax flowing onto her skull. Sara clammed her eyes shut, trying not to cry.

Nick then took out his outer jacket and placed it onto her battered shoulders. She flinched a little. Her pain was unbearable at this stage, but she was too weak to move. She had no mental energy to spend on anything, let alone physical energy. But despite not moving an inch, the heavy jacket slipped off Sara's shoulders, painfully glazing every wound along its descent. Her restraints had made it impossible to wrap his jacket on her.

Sara looked up and drew in a sharp breath. Tears began rampaging down her face, burning her eyes. The pain had turned the darkness around her green for a moment, an optical illusion born of exhaustion, panic and physical pain. She could hear her heart beating but it sounded stranger, deeper and faster than she expected it. If this was a dream, the pain didn't wake her up. She closed her eyes in desperation and tried to imagine it all away. The pain, the restraints, the helpful ink blob… trying to find her way back to the waking world…

If she could remember how it was...

Nick apologised profusely. "I know it hurts, but we got to keep you warm, you're hypothermic." He began to wrap the long sleeves of his jacket around her neck "The pain will go away—I promise." He said, feeling dismayed that his act of kindness was hurting her. Nick continued to tie the sleeves together, but stopped when Sara looked down and shook her head gently, sobbing in a low moan. A wave of worry washed over him as he took a closer look at her neck.

There were bruises where a rope had left its angry mark behind.

The bastard had tried to strangle Sara. More than once.

Sara couldn't handle it anymore. The dream world was a hell of fire. Reality was pain and torture. She clenched her fist tightly, her body screamed with pain with every beat of her heart. She felt as if she was being pulled to pieces. Exhausted, she cried, that was all she had the strength for. Her tears fell to the ground like acid rain, blurring her vision.

In a sense of urgency, Nick wrapped floored jacket around her, one sleeve over her shoulder, the other under her arm. He then zipped up the jacket to the middle of her torso, at the same time, looking around the room for medical supplies the killer had promised.

Nick…How dare you… how dare you promise to keep someone safe when you can't even keep your word?

Painful, mean voices echoed in the back of his head, mocking him.

Pancho, Pancho, Pancho.

You promised to come running.

Nick's hands were clammy with sweat, chest tight with anxiety. What if this was his punishment for making empty promises to a person he cares about? What if this was his punishment for not trying hard enough to find her? What if this was his punishment for living? He looked around the room for the supplies; Sara's sobs breaking his heart.

Pancho, Pancho, Pancho.

The words continue to taunt him, pounding in his head, following the rhythm of his heart.

She shouted those words in the hope that he would come. He didn't. He showed up late. And now, she didn't know if he's genuine or a dream. Real or fake. Friend or foe. With all the care in his heart, he couldn't even grant her only wish.

To let her die. To let her go.

He shoved the thought away, to ignore it, but it kept coming back. It haunted him. She was in this state because of him. His fault.

After running from wall to wall searching, he found a box next to a wine barrel. A red cross was painted on its surface, looking more like a target rather than a medical sign. Its dust-laden presence was a welcoming sight, radiating its own unique aura.

At last! At last, something blissful and kind in this hellhole.

Nick pried the box opened with all his might, a drive that surged from the pit of his gut. He expected the fresh scent of hydrogen peroxide, white gauzes, sterile patches and sanitary items, but instead, he was face to face with about half a dozen syringes, bearing the label:

Heroin.

There were about 4 empty syringes among them, leaving Nick to wonder what Sara's tormentor had used them for. Etched on the inside of the box among the vials of the addictive drug, he had left Nick a note. A note that simply said…

We always hurt the ones we love.

TBC

Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Till next time...